Online Read Free Novel
  • Home
  • Romance & Love
  • Fantasy
  • Science Fiction
  • Mystery & Detective
  • Thrillers & Crime
  • Actions & Adventure
  • History & Fiction
  • Horror
  • Western
  • Humor

    The Lost Track of Time

    Page 4
    Prev Next


      Don’t blink, don’t blink.

      Penelope’s eyes started to water, but she kept her resolve. The black lines

      had disappeared altogether and even the white seemed to fade into nothing.

      Don’t blink, don’t blink.

      Now the room disappeared. The only thing Penelope could see was the

      paper, which didn’t even seem to be there anymore. Instead, a warm, white

      nothing opened out in front of her. Penelope felt like she was tottering at the

      edge of a pit. It made her feel queasy. So . . .

      She blinked.

      And in that brief moment of darkness, the pit rushed up. Or else she fell

      down. Either way, Penelope heard a whooshing sound and felt a strong wind

      press against her face. She opened her eyes and flung out her arms to brace

      herself against the table. But there was no table.

      A jolt of panic sent Penelope’s heart

      racing. Then the nothing engulfed

      her, and time slipped away into

      the rush of air.

      “Where did you come from?” said an unfamiliar voice.

      Penelope turned her head in the direction of the sound. All she could see

      were little black dots dancing against a backdrop of brilliant light.

      “Miss Maddie?” she called out.

      “Who in the world is Miss Maddie?” the voice demanded.

      Penelope squinted and the black dots slowed their dance. A shape wavered

      in front of her eyes, and she saw the outline of a face. She was lying on her back

      and a man was standing above her. The man had his hands on his knees and was

      inspecting her as if she were a beetle. He wore a pair of blue velvet pants and a

      matching velvet jacket covered in pockets. He seemed unusually tall, with legs

      as long as fence posts. His brilliant red hair stood straight up and should have

      made him look silly, except it didn’t. Not quite. He looked old and wise and

      young and foolish all at the same time.

      “Wh-where am I?” asked Penelope.

      “The Realm of Possibility,” the man answered matter-of-factly.

      Penelope sat up. Her head was spinning and her back hurt. An uncomfort-

      able lump in her pocket meant she’d landed on her notebook. “The realm of

      what?” she asked.

      chapter four

      “The Realm of Possibility,” repeated the

      man. “Used to be anything could happen here, but

      these days it rarely does. That’s why you’re so

      unusual. Bizarre. Highly irregular.” He gave her

      arm a sharp poke, as if checking to see that she

      was real.

      “Ow!” cried Penelope and glared up at him.

      “Looks like you’re here for good,” said the

      man with a satisfied nod.

      “But I can’t be here for good,” said Penelope,

      scrambling to her feet. “I have to be some-

      where else.”

      “Impossible.”

      Penelope gave the man a hard look. “What do you mean, ‘impossible’?”

      “I mean, you can’t be somewhere else if you’re already here. It’s impossi-

      ble. Inconceivable. Out of the question.”

      Penelope felt woozy. Her mother was going to kill her. Not only had she

      run away to Miss Maddie’s, somehow she’d left town altogether! Penelope took

      a quick look around. She was standing on a small hill. Tall reeds swayed and

      hummed in the breeze. A well-worn dirt road ran down the hill to meet a field

      of stubby blue grass. To the right of the field, a forest of pine trees stood like

      sentries. There was not one house or street sign to be found. The woozy feeling

      moved from her stomach down to her knees.

      Penelope turned back toward the man. “There must be a way out of here,”

      she insisted.

      But the man wasn’t listening. “Do you see that?” he asked suddenly, point-

      ing at the sky above the forest.

      Penelope scanned the sky. It was empty except for a dark cloud huddled

      over the forest’s far horizon. “You mean that cloud?” she asked.

      When she looked back, the man was running headlong down the hill. “It

      looks like rain. I must be off!” he called over his shoulder. Once he reached the

      bottom of the hill, he left the road behind and took a trail through the grass

      heading straight for the forest.

      “Wait!” Penelope shouted after him.

      He stopped and turned around.

      “I have to get back home! Can you please tell me where this road goes?”

      “To the same place every day,” he yelled back.

      “But where is that?”

      “If you don’t know where you are, you can’t possibly care where you’re

      going. Now then, I really must go. Pleased to meet you.”

      “We haven’t met!” shouted Penelope. But it was too late. The man had

      disappeared into the forest.

      Penelope took a deep breath and tried to clear her head. All you have to

      do is retrace your steps, she told herself. But that was just it. Penelope didn’t

      remember any steps. She had a vague memory of falling, but from where?

      Penelope looked up. The rain cloud she had noticed earlier was moving

      swiftly across the sky. It didn’t drift or roll like a cloud. It spread like a stain,

      smothering the sun and casting a gray light over the countryside. As the cloud

      drew closer, the soft breeze died away and the reeds stood still. The birds

      stopped singing and the bugs stopped twitching and a hush settled over the hill.

      Penelope shuddered. Something didn’t seem quite right about the cloud.

      In fact, something felt dreadful, though she couldn’t tell what. Penelope’s heart

      started to race and the next thing she knew she was running headlong down the

      hill in the same direction as the man.

      As Penelope ran, she remembered all her mother’s warnings about

      strangers. She considered her situation and decided that while the man

      certainly seemed strange in one way, he wasn’t really the kind of stranger she

      was meant to avoid. Even so, the sooner she introduced herself the better.

      Then she would ask him for help. What choice did she have? There was no

      one else around.

      Once Penelope reached the bottom of the hill, she veered off the road and

      onto the trail the man had followed into the forest. She plunged into the woods

      and the daylight immediately vanished under a thick canopy of shade. Trees

      crowded around her and tangled branches pressed in on every side. Penelope

      tried to push her way through the thick undergrowth, but soon lost the trail

      and with it, her sense of direction.

      She heard humming up ahead and followed the sound, scanning the dim

      woods for a hint of red hair or a flash of blue suit. The humming sounded

      tantalizingly close, but the man was nowhere to be seen. Soon she was leaping

      over logs and brushing aside wisps of draping moss. And then, just like that, the

      humming stopped.

      Penelope stood very still as the silence of the forest settled around her. She

      closed her eyes and held her breath, listening for some clue to the peculiar man’s

      whereabouts. After a moment she heard a soft rustling sound like a mouse

      making its home. Penelope turned around in a slow circle, scanning the woods.

      That’s when she saw it — a bit of red hair poking out from behind a tree. The

      man had left the path and was bending over a rotten stump
    , searching through

      a pile of decaying leaves.

      “Hello?” called Penelope.

      The man stood up immediately. “Mushrooms!”

      “Wh-what?”

      “Mushrooms!” he repeated, making his way toward her. He held out his

      hand. Two small, unassuming mushrooms sat on his palm. “You do like mush-

      rooms, don’t you?”

      “They’re . . . uh . . . they’re very interesting,” said Penelope, wishing she

      could say something intelligent based on what she’d learned at science camp.

      The man beamed at her. “I couldn’t agree with you more.” He slipped the

      mushrooms into one of his many pockets. “That’s settled, then. There’s one for

      me and one for you. Of course, we’ll have to wait until dinner.”

      “B-but I can’t stay for dinner,” stammered Penelope.

      “Well, I suppose we could have them for an afternoon snack.” He reached

      back into his pocket.

      “You don’t understand,” she interrupted. “I don’t have time to eat.” Just

      then Penelope remembered her resolve to introduce herself. “My name is

      Penelope,” she said, sticking out her hand. “And I’m from the Spicewood Estates.”

      “I’m Dill,” he said with a quick shake.

      “Like the pickle?” Penelope bit her lip. What a rude thing to say! She knew

      her mother wouldn’t approve, but Dill didn’t seem to mind. He smiled as if

      Penelope had compared him to someone famous.

      “Exactly! Like the pickle.”

      Relieved, Penelope moved on to her request. “I was hoping you could help

      me. Do you know the way out of this Realm? I know you said it was impossible

      to leave, but if there’s a way in, there must be a way out.”

      “I never said it was impossible to leave,” replied Dill. “I said that if you’re

      here, it’s impossible to be anywhere else.”

      “Oh. So it is possible to leave?”

      “Of course it’s possible,” said Dill.

      Penelope went slack with relief. “Thank goodness.”

      “But highly unlikely,” he continued.

      Penelope suddenly felt very tired. They were going around and around

      and getting nowhere. She decided to change her approach. “Do you know anyone

      who knows the way out?”

      The man frowned. “I suppose Chronos knows.”

      “Who?”

      “Chronos.” Dill fixed Penelope with a stare. “Ever heard of him?”

      Penelope shook her head.

      “Lucky you. He’s unfriendly. Unpleasant. Actually” — his voice dropped

      to a whisper — “he’s downright wicked.”

      “Wicked?” said Penelope, taking a step back. “I don’t want to meet him.”

      “Indeed, you don’t. It’s best you stick with me for the time being. Now, I’d

      better get dinner started,” he said, patting the pocket where he’d put the mush-

      rooms. “These won’t stay fresh for long.”

      Dill set off down the trail humming and Penelope hurried after so as not

      to be left behind. It sounded like she was stuck here, at least until she could

      figure out how to get home. Except she wasn’t much good at figuring things out

      these days. Not with all her ideas dried up. She thought about poor Miss Maddie,

      who was probably trying to explain things to her mother at this very moment.

      Would her mother even care that Penelope was gone or would she just be upset

      that her schedule had been interrupted?

      After walking for some time, they came to a clearing in the woods where

      a tiny sunlit meadow sat. The meadow was ringed by tall trees and topped

      with a bright blue sky.

      “We’re almost there!” Dill said and rushed ahead.

      Penelope ran after him until — bam! — her foot hit something hard and

      she tumbled to the ground. She got to her feet, expecting Dill to reappear from

      around a tree or pop up from behind her. But he didn’t. She looked left, then

      right. She looked up, then down. That’s when she noticed what had tripped

      her — a stovepipe sticking up out of the dirt. A stovepipe meant there was a

      stove and a stove meant there was a kitchen and a kitchen meant . . . aha!

      There it was. A few feet from where she’d fallen was a door level with the

      ground. The door was open and Penelope peered through it down a deep hole

      to a pool of light below. Drifting up from the hole was the sound of banging

      cabinets and slamming drawers.

      Penelope followed the noise down a ladder and soon arrived in a large

      open room fashioned from a cavern. The room had none of the dark dampness

      associated with caves. It was warm and brightly lit, with a living room on one

      end and a dining room on the other. The kitchen, where Dill was vigorously

      stirring something with a wire whisk, sat in the middle.

      “Welcome! Greetings! Warmest salutations!” he called out to Penelope

      and nodded toward the living room. “Make yourself at home.”

      Penelope picked out a comfy-looking chair facing the kitchen and

      plopped down. The chair was carved out of a log and had pillows made from

      grape-colored moss. “Now then,” said Dill, once Penelope was settled. “I’m

      dying to hear about these Spicewood Estates . . .”

      “It’s just a neighborhood,” said Penelope with a shrug. “Lots of people

      live there.”

      “And there are spice woods?” he asked eagerly.

      Penelope had often wondered about this. “No, there aren’t any woods.

      Maybe there were at one time, but they’re gone now. Mostly it’s just houses.”

      “But these houses,” pressed Dill, “they’re beautiful estates with grounds

      and gardens?”

      “It’s not like that,” Penelope insisted. “All the houses are the same with

      small yards.”

      Dill stopped stirring for a moment. “And you want to go back?”

      “I have to go back,” she explained. “I have a schedule to keep. Things I

      have to do. The longer I’m away, the farther behind I fall.”

      “I see.” Dill resumed stirring. “I guess they’re everywhere,” he muttered.

      Penelope sat up. “Who’s everywhere?”

      “I’d rather not say. There’s no use ruining our appetite.” Dill poured

      whatever he was making into a dish and slipped it into the oven. “I’ll be right

      back. Just have to wash up a bit,” he said and disappeared down the hall.

      Penelope sat back in her chair and thought about Dill’s question. Did she

      want to go back? She had no idea how she had gotten here, so she had no idea

      how to return. Maybe Dill would let her stay with him until she could come up

      with a plan. She couldn’t help but wonder what she would be going back to

      anyway. By now her mother had probably thrown away all of Penelope’s

      notebooks and was preparing to turn her room into an office.

      Penelope got up from her chair to look around. The living room had two

      chairs and a long couch, each with the same grape-colored moss pillows. The

      pillows matched the wallpaper, which was every shade of purple imaginable —

      lavender, mauve, lilac, violet, plum, and wine. The most striking thing about

      the wallpaper wasn’t the color, though. It was the texture. It was bumpy.

      On closer inspection, Penelope realized the wallpaper wasn’t wallpaper

      at all — it was mushrooms. Huge, spongy, purple mushrooms. Ebon and the

    &
    nbsp; other Mad Scientists would flip for these! Penelope reached out to touch one.

      Her fingertip disappeared in its fleshy exterior and then sprang back.

      Bloop.

      She couldn’t resist doing it again.

      Bloop. Bloop.

      “Stop that!”

      Penelope spun around, hands behind her back. Dill was striding toward

      her, his wild hair standing up even higher than usual. “Those mushrooms are

      very sensitive! They only grow under the most delicate conditions. You can’t go

      around poking them!”

      “I’m sorry,” explained Penelope. “I didn’t mean to hurt them.”

      Dill’s eyes softened. “All right, then. They are hard to resist. They’re

      awfully springy. Bouncy. Downright squishy.”

      “But what are they for?” asked Penelope.

      “Eating, of course! Now then, if you please . . .” Dill escorted Penelope to

      the dining room and sat her at the head of the table, which was made from an

      enormous tree stump. He then retrieved a white dish from the kitchen. Spilling

      over the top of the dish was a gigantic lavender-colored soufflé. “Bon appétit,” he

      said in a hushed tone before placing it gently on the table.

      “It looks delicious,” said Penelope, who wasn’t quite sure it did.

      “Shh! You mustn’t disturb it.”

      “Sorry,” she whispered.

      Dill rolled up his sleeves, took a large flat serving spoon, and approached

      the soufflé as if it were alive. He adjusted his angle several times before darting

      forward and swiftly tapping the soufflé along one of the many delicate creases

      across its top. When he did so, a puff of purple steam rose up and settled several

      feet above the dinner table.

      Dill jumped on his chair and began to shovel bits of steam into his mouth

      with the serving spoon. “Quick! Grab your spoon!” he urged Penelope.

      Penelope picked up her spoon and looked hesitantly at the purple cloud.

      “You’ll have to stand on your chair,” said Dill, puffs of purple air escaping

      his mouth.

      Penelope couldn’t resist the idea of eating dinner standing on a chair, so

     


    Prev Next
Online Read Free Novel Copyright 2016 - 2025